Winter's End

His eyes pierced, the gray-green color flint and flat. Long seconds ticked by before he switched his attention to his father, the move dismissive. “I’m picking Jess up from Nan’s later. Anything you need from town?”

Pete patted the small package. “I had a hankering for some of them filled wafery things. Kayla got some for me.”

“Wasn’t that nice?” The edge in Marc’s voice told Kayla she’d stepped on his toes again.

She bit back a groan. What was it with this guy? Wasn’t anything easy? Did bringing his sick father a box of Napoleons constitute war?

Marc rolled his shoulders. With one long swig, he drained his cup and plunked it onto the scarred counter. “Anything special you’d like for supper, Dad? I can defrost the meat.”

Pete mulled, then said, “Stew.”

Marc smiled.

Whoa. Secret weapon, highly effective. Definitely part of his arsenal that should be kept sheathed, only to be revealed with a mandatory warning to all females within relative proximity. Kayla’s heart beat a rat-a-tat-tat against her breastbone, a totally adolescent reaction. Stop. Stay cool. Distant. Step away from the smile. Avert your eyes. Whatever it takes.

The grin held a high-amp flash of teeth and a dimple that should have made him look soft, but didn’t. Just the opposite. The man looked good. Self-assured. Confident and happy.

His father grinned in response. Kayla looked from one to the other, mystified. “Is there something I’m missing? A private joke?”

Marc shifted his weight. “Family stuff.”

Her spine tightened. The rebuff was meant to keep her in her place. He’d drawn a line in the sand, a marker of domination.

She didn’t need his marker. She knew her place. Always had. With an audible intake of breath, she reached into her laptop bag and withdrew papers. “Are you up to doing paperwork, Mr. D.?”

He nodded. “I’m okay.”

“Good.” She smiled at him and worked to focus on the more rudimentary aspects of her job. Sparring with Marc would get her nothing but aggravation. She didn’t need that. With his father’s terminal condition, Marc didn’t either. The guy was spoiling for a fight, and she refused to give him the satisfaction. Maybe she could suggest a night at the gym, a bout with a punching bag. Did gyms still have punching bags?

She didn’t know, but figured Marc might feel better after an evening-long session with one. Hours of repetitive thrashing could release his anger at a situation beyond his control. And beyond hers, for that matter. She’d been assigned to do a job, and had every intention of performing her task to the best of her ability.

With or without Marc DeHollander’s approval.

Chapter Four

Marc pulled into Nan Bedlow’s at 5:40 p.m. He’d spent the better part of the day moving rotational fencing, allowing the herd new winter grazing on old cornstalks. His shoulders ached and his back knew the strain of bending and shifting, but he’d finished the job.

The task wasn’t rhythmic like when he partnered with his dad. Then, one would drive, one would stake and unspool the wire to the plastic insulators, and they’d leapfrog one another to keep the installation moving. They could encircle a cornfield in a few hours time.

Quick compared to today, anyway. Setting fence was a two-man job.

He’d hired help for the feed store so he could have more time with his father. Even with the midwinter slump in business, he couldn’t be in the store, the barn and the house at the same time. Superman, he wasn’t. But he couldn’t justify paying two hands with the decreased work, so the store got the extra hands and Marc got the farm labor.

He smiled as Jess swung open the passenger door.

“Cold?”

Jess tugged off her gloves. “Oh, yeah.” She placed her hands palms down over the dashboard vents. “Thanks for having the truck warm.”

“It’s all right. Good session today?” Jess worked Rooster several times a week. The saucy paint had been a relatively inexpensive purchase five years past. He’d proven to be a good horse, with instinctive showmanship. The gelding loved an audience.

That made him perfect for Jess’s needs. Rooster defied the laws of gravity with his leans and Jess had no problem eyeing the arena’s dirt floor with him. They made a team, with the show ribbons and acclaim to prove it.

Jess kept her eyes trained ahead. “Good enough.”

Uh-oh. “But?”

“He needs to work.”

Ah. January doldrums. Working horses didn’t like being put to rest. They’d stabled Rooster with Nan so they wouldn’t have to trailer him. Jess worked off his feed by helping Nan. It seemed a good plan, but Rooster was a “go” horse. Hanging out with the pampered babies of weekend riders wasn’t his cup of tea. Marc understood that. “You’re probably right.”

“But trailering him here takes a lot of time.”

“Not so much.”

Jess started to object. Marc raised a hand. “We want to do what’s best for him, right?”

“Yes, but you’re doing everything on your own. That’s hard.”

She didn’t add that the advanced state of their dad’s cancer not only removed a capable set of hands, but added a pall to everyday life. They both recognized that. She continued, “I wish I didn’t have to go to school. I’d rather stay home and work with you. Ride. Feed. Muck.”

“Castrate.”

Jess laughed. “That, too.”

“You’re a born rancher, kid. And when those calves start dropping, I’ll put you to work.”

“I know.” Her voice was smug. “I’m a chip off the old block.”

Marc tuned in more carefully. Something else was going on. Something unspoken. “Problems?”

“Nope.”

She answered too fast. Marc mulled the possibilities. Jess was a good student. High honor roll, a favorite of teachers. He frowned as a thought occurred.

She rarely brought friends around. She’d meet up with other riders at the ring and sometimes hang out with them, but that was different.

School friends? None he could picture. Did she feel funny bringing them home with Dad sick? “Why not have some friends over this weekend? We can do a winter barbecue.”

Jess’s careful smile set off warning signals. “I’ve got to get ready for first semester finals and work Rooster, plus help you. And I’d rather spend time with Dad right now.”

Marc couldn’t argue. Time with Dad was growing short, although his father seemed more energized today. Still, the feeling he was missing something stuck with him. Resolving to figure it out, he turned into the drive.

The nurse’s car sat in his spot. He frowned, parked and followed Jess in.

“You must be Jess.” As he crossed the threshold, Marc saw the nurse offer her hand. “I’m Kayla Doherty, your dad’s nurse.”

“Nice to meet you.” Jess’s voice mirrored the sincerity of her smile. She grabbed the nurse’s hand in a firm grip. “Dad says you’re wonderful.”